Analysis — page 3
When two circular motions come home
Drive a point across with one sine wave and up and down with another. If the two frequencies are in a whole-number ratio the point retraces a closed figure whose crossings can be counted in advance — 2pq − p − q of them — and if they are not, it never comes back and fills the square, spending twenty times longer in the corners than in the middle.
An endless region with a finite area
A region that runs off to infinity can still have a finite area, and for the curves 1/xᵖ the exponent that makes the far end finite is exactly the one that makes the end at zero infinite. 1/x fails at both, no power succeeds at both, and a horn can hold less than π while needing infinite paint.
A rectangle cut by a curve
Integration by parts is taught as the product rule run backwards. It is also a picture: an increasing curve cuts a rectangle into two pieces, one of them the area under the curve and the other the area beside it, and the formula says only that the pieces fill the rectangle. Run repeatedly, the same cut produces the factorials and Wallis's product for π.
The sum that steps over every whole number
The harmonic sum 1 + 1/2 + 1/3 + … passes 2 at the fourth term, 3 at the eleventh, 4 at the thirty-first, and eventually every whole number there is. It never lands on one. The proof is a single number in the list 1, 2, …, n that carries more factors of two than any other — and the same arithmetic makes the numerators divisible by squares of primes they have no business knowing about.
A coin in front of every term
Put all plus signs in front of 1, 1/2, 1/3, … and the sum runs off to infinity; alternate them and it settles on log 2. Toss a fair coin for each sign instead, and the sum settles — every time, on a different number. Where it tends to settle has a smooth, flat-topped shape, and at the value 2 that shape takes a height that agrees with one eighth to forty-two decimal places and is not one eighth.
A limit can jump at every fraction
A sequence of continuous functions can settle, point by point, on a function that is discontinuous at every rational number. It cannot settle on one that is discontinuous everywhere — the indicator of the rationals needs two limits in a row, and Riemann's integral cannot follow the second. The line between the two is Baire's theorem, and it measures smallness by gaps rather than by length.
Uniform, except on a small set
The functions xⁿ settle on their limit at every point and never uniformly — the trouble is all in a strip next to 1. Throw the strip away and the convergence is uniform on what is left, however thin the strip. Egorov proved that this always happens on an interval, Lusin proved the matching fact about a single function, and a bump sliding off along the whole line shows why both need a set of finite length to start from.
The length the derivative never sees
The Cantor function climbs from 0 to 1 with a slope of zero almost everywhere, so the formula ∫√(1 + f′²) dx says its graph has length 1 — the length of a flat line. The inscribed polygons say 2. Mix it half and half with the diagonal and the length becomes exactly the golden ratio, while the formula still reports only the part the slope can see.
A length counted by the lines that cross it
Throw straight lines at random across a curve and count how often they cross it. The average count, times π times the radius of the target, is the curve's length — for a wiggly closed curve, a spiral or a snowflake alike, with no following of the curve and no derivative anywhere. It is Crofton's formula of 1868, and it measures length the way a map-reader's ruled transparency does.
A plucked string keeps its corners
Heat smooths a sharp profile at once, because each harmonic decays at a rate set by the square of its frequency. Change one time derivative into two and nothing decays at all: each harmonic swings for ever, the corner of a pluck splits in two and runs along the string, and after one period the shape comes back exactly. The same sines, the same coefficients — and a flow that loses nothing.
The ripples that make a series run away
Adding up the first N terms of a Fourier series is the same as averaging the function against one fixed wiggly curve. Its area is always one, but the area of its absolute value grows like the logarithm of N, without limit — and that single number is enough to force a continuous function, with no jump and no corner anywhere, whose Fourier series diverges at a point. Averaging the partial sums removes the negative ripples, and with them the whole problem.
A coin in front of every power
Toss a coin for each sign of ±1 ± λ ± λ² ± … and the sum lands somewhere. Below λ = 1/2 it lands on a dust with gaps in it, at exactly 1/2 it lands anywhere with equal chance, and above 1/2 it lands on a smooth-looking hill — which for most λ has a density and for the golden value does not, though no picture can tell the two apart.
Two sign patterns that land together
At λ = 1/φ the sign patterns + − − and − + + land in exactly the same place, because λ² + λ = 1. That one coincidence, repeated wherever it fits, puts 2ⁿ patterns onto a Fibonacci number of points, leaves the random sum's transform ringing at the same height forever, and makes a distribution that fills a whole interval live on a set of no length.
A geometric series whose ratio is a matrix
1 + r + r² + … adds to 1/(1 − r) when r is smaller than one. Put a matrix in place of r and the same formula holds, with the inverse matrix in place of the fraction — but what must be smaller than one is not the matrix's size. It is its largest eigenvalue. A matrix whose eigenvalues are 0.9 and 0.8 can stretch vectors ten times over before its powers begin to shrink, and the series still converges, after a detour the eigenvalues say nothing about.
A series that converges to minus one
1 + 2 + 4 + 8 + … runs off to infinity, and yet the formula for a geometric series says it should equal 1/(1 − 2) = −1. Measure size by how many factors of 2 a number has, instead of how large it is, and powers of 2 become small: the series converges, and to exactly −1. The same change of ruler explains why every repeating decimal is a fraction, and why repeating binary digits running off to the left are fractions too.
Two numbers decide the flow
A linear system in the plane has four coefficients, and what its solutions do forever afterwards — spiral in, race out, swing round, or split along two lines — is decided by two of the numbers made from them. The plane of trace against determinant is a complete map of the possibilities, and the only places it cannot decide are the lines where it changes its mind.
The matrix that has no logarithm
Every square matrix has an exponential, and a matrix exponential is always invertible. The converse fails, and it fails in a way that can be read straight off the eigenvalues — a real matrix with eigenvalues −1 and −2 is no exponential at all, while minus the identity is the exponential of a whole continuum of matrices that do not even commute with each other.
The error that keeps coming back to its worst
Judge a polynomial by its largest error on an interval and there is exactly one best one of each degree. It is recognised without comparing it to anything else — its error rises to the same largest size, alternately above and below, one more time than there are coefficients.
An ellipse, not a disc
A Taylor series converges on a disc, and the disc's radius is the distance to the nearest singularity. Ask instead how well polynomials can follow a function on an interval, and the answer is an ellipse with the interval's ends as its foci — the largest one the function is smooth inside.
A slope for a curve that is no function
The folium x³ + y³ = 3xy loops back over itself, so no formula y = f(x) describes it, and yet at almost every point it has a perfectly good tangent. Differentiating the equation as it stands gives the slope, −(∂F/∂x) ÷ (∂F/∂y), and the only points where that fails are the ones where the curve turns vertical or crosses itself — which are exactly the points where it stops being a graph.
A slope can swing but never jump
A function can have a slope at every point without that slope changing continuously: x² sin(1/x) has slope nought at the origin and a slope that swings between −1 and 1 however close to the origin it is taken. What a slope cannot do is jump. Darboux proved in 1875 that a derivative takes every value between any two of its values, so a step is never a derivative — and the only way a slope can be discontinuous is by oscillating.
An area measured by walking round it
A surveyor's instrument from 1854 measures the area of any shape on a map by having its pointer steered once round the boundary; a small wheel rolls and slides, and its reading, times the length of one arm, is the area. Nothing touches the inside. The reason is that area can be written as an integral over the boundary — Green's theorem — and the instrument is that integral built in brass. Walk a curve that crosses itself and the same integral counts some regions twice.
No integrand sits on the border
The area under 1/x out to infinity is infinite and the area under 1/x² is finite, so it is natural to look for the dividing line. There is none. Divide any divergent integrand by its own running integral and it still diverges, more slowly; divide any convergent one by the square root of its tail and it still converges, more slowly. Paul du Bois-Reymond proved in 1873 that no single integrand can separate the two families — and the slow ones are slow beyond imagining.
Three sines tie a knot
Let a point move with a different sine wave in each of the three directions of space, the three frequencies whole numbers with no common factor, and it traces a closed curve that is usually knotted. With frequencies 2, 3 and 7 the curve is the knot 5₂. The trefoil, the simplest knot of all, can never be made this way: the half-turn that shifting time by half a period performs forces a condition on the knot's polynomial that the trefoil fails.